


Tension Tamer

by waywardrose



Series: My Baby Just Cares for Me [2]
Category: Saturday Night Live
Genre: 1950s, Don’t copy to another site, Euphemisms, F/M, No Racism, Old-Fashioned, Oral Sex, Sheltered-artist reader, Stand Alone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-10-11 23:22:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20554370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waywardrose/pseuds/waywardrose
Summary: The mattress trembled under you. The softly lit face of your alarm clock said it was after three. You knew it must be work that had awoken him. The company was in the middle of a merger and tensions were high.





	Tension Tamer

**Author's Note:**

> Anonymous said: Your latest post literally left me like 😳☺️ hahaha. I don’t know if you’re taking requests (if you’re not just ignore this part!!) but if you are and feel comfortable, could you write about Abe’s and his wife, along the same vein, but it’s her giving him oral sex? Regardless, I love your writing and can’t wait for whatever else you might write! ❤️
> 
> (Nonny here is referring to [Expanding One’s Horizons](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20166787).)
> 
> Oh my, yes! I’m very comfortable with this prompt. Let’s indulge our oral fixations, bruh! 😉 Thank you for reading and prompting! Love you right back. 😘

The mattress trembled under you. There was then a susurrus of fabric in the dark. You guessed Abe was pulling on his robe, which he’d earlier draped at the foot of the bed. You lay there to feel him ease away and fold the blanket over his side of the bed. He padded out of the bedroom and gently shut the door after himself.

The softly lit face of your alarm clock said it was after three. You knew it must be work that had awoken him. The company was in the middle of a merger and tensions were high.

For your part, you focused on the running of the home. You had been keeping the connections with the circle of Manhattan wives strong. You had hosted a ladies luncheon on Monday. Next month was a charity raffle, where you had donated one of your small sculptures: an inverted obelisk balanced on a pyramid. The four seasons were carved in a Cubist style on each side. You’d tried your hand at gilding for that piece. The empty jagged branches for winter were like glowing veins in the concrete.

Abe had been very proud of you. He’d put his arm around you and said it reminded him of how he loved you: perennially yet evolving. He also liked the phallic nature of the obelisk.

You’d knocked your hand against his chest as you admonished him. Your face had heated, and you couldn’t look him in the eye. That hadn’t been what you’d meant.

He’d murmured in your ear: “It looks like it’s about to _plunge_ into the pyramid and become one with it.”

“Abe!”

He’d turned you then to kiss you and soothe your ruffled feathers. It had been delicate at first, but his ardor soon took over. He’d ran his hands down your back to clutch at your rear. His solid body had felt so good against yours. His touch ignited such a fervor deep inside that you found yourself sitting on the work table with legs spread in minutes. The skirt of your day dress bunched at your waist, and your underwear hung from your ankle as Abe plowed into you.

You couldn’t wear that dress without thinking of his big hands clutching your hips as he gave you pleasure.

You sat up and turned on the bedside lamp. Abraham needed to come back to bed. It was half-past now. Working all hours of the night was not going to help him. You neatened your hair with the comb you kept in your nightstand and drank some water from the tumbler next to the clock. You put on the matching robe of your pink peignoir set and got out of bed.

It didn’t take a genius to find your husband. There was mellow light streaming from his private office down the hall. You peeked in to see him sitting at his desk, glowering at a multi-paged document, and making notes in the margin. He had a single desk lamp on and a half-full glass of ice water by his elbow. His dark hair was disheveled from sleep, and his robe gaped open across his bare chest.

You admired him for moment. His routine visits to the athletic club to play racket ball had toned his physique. He had always been in fine shape, but now his muscles were more defined. He said the exercise helped him at work, that his thinking was faster.

You knocked on the doorjamb and offered a smile when he looked up. His frown disappeared the second he saw you. He set down his pen and ran a hand through his hair.

“Did I wake you, my love?” he asked.

You walked into the office. “Your absence did.”

“My apologies, dearest. There are these complications—” He stopped with a sigh and a wave of his hand. “Tedious details. I won’t bother you with them.”

He rubbed at his neck and let his head tip back. Even from across the room, you heard his tendons crackle. No wonder he couldn’t sleep.

You walked around the desk and stepped behind him. “Let me.”

He weakly protested as you moved his hand out of the way and began kneading his shoulders. He relaxed into your touch and groaned when you found tightness in his trapezius. You moved up to work at the rigid muscles at the base of his skull. You used the heat of your hands to help loosen them. He breathed deep as you worked.

Little by little, his body gave in to your administrations and unclenched. You bent forward, placed your chin on his shoulder, and wrapped your arms around him. He caressed your forearms and rested his temple against yours.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

You slid you hands under his robe to feel his chest. His wavy hair was soft against your cheek. He smelled clean and like sleep. You had an urge to kiss him, suck on his graceful neck, savor the taste of his skin—_all over._

Last week, you’d heard two shop-girls gossiping about their boyfriends. One of them mentioned her boyfriend teaching her to love the French way. The other shop-girl was confused by the term. As were you. You tried to remain inconspicuous as you browsed through the same rack again as they whispered.

The French way, the shop-girl said, meant using their mouths on each other. There was a pointed look, and the other girl gasped in shock. The shop-girl assured her it was fun and not nearly as nerve-wracking as him pulling out in time.

You continued to listen as the shop-girl insisted she’d mastered the technique. She said she had her boyfriend wrapped around her finger because of it. With a tone of awe, the other girl asked about the technique. The reply had you hiding your blazing face from the girls:

“You suck his _ya know_ like a big lollipop, yeah? No teeth, plenty of spit.”

“Gee, Pegs, I don’t know about that.”

“It’s fun, I swear. It ain’t gross if he’s washed. What comes out at the end is kinda bittah, though.”

The thought of kissing Abe everywhere had you squirming in desire. You’d purchased the nylons you had visited the shop for and went home in a daze. You didn’t know if you could fit him in your mouth. He was proportional—big and thick, like the rest of him. Your teeth were sharp, too. You didn’t want to hurt him, but you wanted to try.

He was always relaxed after making love with you, you mentally pointed out. And he left you feeling boneless. So, maybe this could help him.

Your hands creeped lower, smoothing down his torso. You nosed under his hair to suck on his earlobe. He let his arms fall to side as he shifted in his chair and let out a breath. You took that as encouragement, so you pulled his robe’s lapels further apart and ran your hands all over his upper body.

Abe breathlessly warned, “My love, you’re venturing into dangerous territory.”

“Full of land-mines,” you sighed in his ear, and feeling bold, kissed below his ear. “Maybe a deadly missile.” You tugged loose the bow in his belt, and the heavy silk slithered open.

His striped pajama bottoms were tented over his lap. You could just see the outline of his manhood. Refraining from touching it, you pulled his robe open to kiss more of his neck. He guided your hands to his chest. His nipples were hard, and you teased them.

He shivered as his head tilted to the side. You kissed his prickly jaw and pinched his nipples how he liked. He groaned and thrust his hips into the air. Your sex clenched at the sight.

“Here,” you said, straightening and taking ahold of the back of his chair. “Scoot back.”

You rolled him away from the desk with his help and swiveled him around to get between his spread knees. He reached for you as if to pull you onto his lap. However, before he made contact, you began lowering yourself to the rug.

Abe faltered and froze. “Darling, what are you doing?”

“Loving you.” You placed your hands on his firm thighs. “Will you show me the French way?”

“The French way?”

You gnawed on your bottom lip for a second as heat infused your cheeks. “I overheard— I know about…” You didn’t know how to articulate it. “Where one uses their mouth… to please their partner.”

“The French way,” he summed up.

You nodded and trailed your palms up his legs. He stopped you before you reached his apex, and you looked up to see if you’d already blundered. His eyes were dark and heated, somehow savage—_hungry._ You recognized that look. Your body thrummed in need because you knew what that look meant.

He bent and caught your mouth in a kiss so ravenous you felt already taken. You mewled against his lips and sucked on his tongue. You wanted to rub your breasts against him as he played your body like a fine instrument. You wanted to kiss his chest and work your way down to his hard, straining erection.

You felt him pitch from side to side. You broke the kiss to watch him work his pajama pants down his hips. This was really happening, you realized. You shook yourself out of the haze of lust to assist. Between the both of you, you maneuvered his pants down and off his long, muscled legs.

He had crisp, dark hair covering his calves which thinned out to almost nothing at his upper thighs. You knew this already, but had never been this close to examine him. You spread his legs further and knee-walked closer as he lay back in the chair. The clean, pleasant musk of him was pronounced this close.

His manhood—_his cock_—was resting at the crook of his hip. It was so pink and glossy at the tip. As you looked on, a little bead of clear fluid bubbled out. The fluid trickled down the underside to wet the crease below the crown. His plump sac was flushed, too; furrowed and barely dusted with fine hair.

You didn’t know where to start. You traced your thumbs over his smooth, warm inner thighs. You always liked when he kissed yours, so you started there. You placed delicate kisses—hearing him hum with each kiss—until you reached the edge of his pubic hair. Your chin bumped against his sac. You wondered if you should kiss it, too, or lick it. You didn’t know if that would be wrong.

“I don’t know what to do,” you murmured.

You recalled Pegs saying to suck it like a lollipop and to watch one’s teeth. Surely, she didn’t mean everything. You glanced at his cock and tried to keep from blanching. You had no clue how to do it right. You wanted to please your husband so badly.

He whispered, “Kiss your way up, my love.”

You nodded, wet your lips, and kissed his sac. It was thicker-skinned and firm. You came to the base of the shaft to feel the heat of blood under the silky skin. You braced yourself on his thighs and relaxed your lips more to give him open-mouthed kisses.

“That’s it.”

Encouraged, you kitten-licked your way to the tip. You tasted the salt of his skin and the tang of the wetness at the top. The spongey head jumped against your lips, and you pulled away in surprise.

“I’m sorry, my love. Your pretty mouth feels so good.”

You licked your lips and found you didn’t mind the flavor at all. “What next?”

You looked up at him to see him blushing. It had spread down his neck to fan across his upper chest. He was gripping the chair arms so hard, his knuckles were white.

“Hold the… the base, brace it. Lick it, get it nice and wet.”

“And then suck it like a lollipop?”

He replied with a groan. At the same time, his cock jerked against his pelvis. He hid his eyes with a hand and nodded. You watched his reaction with wonder as you did as he instructed. The heft of his hot erection was good in your hand. You licked a line from your hand to the tip. You gathered saliva on your tongue and wet the entire crown.

He nodded and uncovered his eyes. “Keep going.”

You knew that meant taking it in your mouth. You were sure you could handle a few inches, but not the whole thing. You hoped that would be good enough.

You kissed the tip, slowly opening your mouth to use your tongue.

“No teeth,” he breathed.

You thought of hollowing out your mouth and letting your jaw relax. You mustered a little more saliva and sucked in the tip. You let the supple head slide against the roof of your mouth. You wiggled your tongue as you got a feel for it.

Above you, Abe moaned. You looked up the long line of his body to meet his smoldering eyes.

_“So good._ Now bob your head for me.”

You focused on going down as far as you could. You wetly gagged a few times, struggling to keep your teeth away, but found your limit quickly enough. The salty-musky-male taste of him filled your mouth with each bob. The weight of his cock on your tongue, the satisfaction of giving, the rhythm of each thrust into your mouth brought an unfamiliar heat.

You twisted your head as you came up, and Abe arched in the chair with a ragged gasp. You popped your mouth off him to ask if you’d hurt him.

“No, feels wonderful.” He gently cupped the back of your neck. “Keep going, my love, use your hands.”

You took him in again and twisted your head like you had, finding the rhythm that seemed to satisfy. At the same time, you stroked what you couldn’t fit in your mouth with your increasingly sopping hand. You closed your eyes and lost yourself in sucking him down, over and over. It felt _good._ You had that same aroused, squirming feeling deep in your belly like when you laid with him.

Abe’s breathing was picking up. He rocked with your movements. You heard him whine—something he’d never done before. He panted out yeses until he sighed your name.

You looked at him and sucked a little harder.

“Going to come,” he gasped as his shaking hand tightened in your hair. “Will you let me…?” He licked his flushed lips. “In your mouth?”

You moaned around his cock at the thought of him filling you from this side. The shop-girl had said was bitter, but you didn’t care. This was your husband. You wanted to make him feel good, so you didn’t stop.

He moaned in reply as his broad chest heaved. You’d seen that from him before. He was about to climax. He choked on a wicked curse. His breath suddenly hitched, and his body locked up. Your sex clenched in sympathy.

The first warm surge of come hit the back of your throat. You stilled to concentrate on swallowing it. It seemed to go on and on, but you needed to breathe. You pulled halfway off and caught another surge on your tongue. He whined again. His come was definitely bitter and briny and tangy, a little pungent.

Gravity worked against you this time, and some of his come spilled down his shaft. You swallowed again and worked on sucking up what you missed. He groaned and rocked into your mouth, the hand at the nape of your neck holding you steady. Luckily, you weren’t surprised by his minute thrusts, and let him slow down as he needed.

His voice snagged as he whispered, “Mercy, darling, mercy.”

You eased up to catch your breath. As you sat back, you kept a hold on his softening cock. You used your dry hand to wipe at your sticky chin. Noticing you’d gotten come on your robe, you made a mental note to prewash it before putting it in the hamper. You didn’t want the maid to see how unladylike you were with your husband.

“Come up here, love. Let me hold you.”

You gently lay Abe’s cock between his legs before rising to your feet. Your knees protested and your slick sex ached for release. However, the look on his face made it all worth it. You hadn’t seen him this relaxed in days.

He offered a hand to steady you across his lap. “I’ve made a mess of you, haven’t I?”

He gently cleaned away the come you’d missed, wiping it on his chest, before offering his glass of water. You took a few hardy drinks and gave the glass back. The water mostly mitigated the bitter taste of his come.

“Give your husband a kiss,” he crooned and put his arms around your waist.

“I should brush my teeth first.”

_“Nonsense._ Don’t be bashful now.”

You snaked an arm behind his shoulder and gave him a closed-mouth peck. You must smell like sour come and spit. When you tried to sit back, Abe caught your chin and looked into your eyes.

“That’s hardly a kiss.”

“I don’t want you to be… _disgusted.”_

“Are you?”

Your eyes went wide. “No!” You weren’t disgusted at all. You held his cheek. “I liked it.”

“Then kiss me,” he said, and you felt one of his hands slide down to your rear. “And I’ll return the favor.”

You wanted to protest that he didn’t have to do anything for you right now, but you knew it was futile. Abraham would do what he wanted. Though, it wasn’t like you wouldn’t appreciate his attentions.

You snuggled closer and kissed him the way he preferred—the way you preferred now, too. He disregarded, or didn’t mind, the taste of himself on your tongue. He deepened the kiss, tilting his head and ravaging your tender mouth. You sagged against him, rubbing your breasts on his chest, and felt his cock jerk against the back of your thigh.

It was going to be a long night, you thought. Maybe you could persuade Abe to go into work late.

**Author's Note:**

> Sculpture loosely based on [“Broken Obelisk” by Barnett Newman](http://www.barnettnewman.com/broken-obelisk/).
> 
> Find me on [tumblr](https://the-wayward-rose.tumblr.com).


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